


Just An Acquisition

by Aini_NuFire



Series: More Than [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Ketch Being an Asshole, BAMF Winchesters (Supernatural), Gen, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Rescue, Season/Series 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-16 19:39:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13060782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: The British Men of Letters decide to remove Castiel from the Winchesters’ dynamic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third and final story for this verse. Supernatural isn't mine. Thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading!

 

Castiel stared at his evidence board as though it would miraculously present something new that it hadn't already in the past hour he'd been sitting in front of it. Or the weeks it'd been in the bunker's war room, accumulating absolutely nothing on Kelly Kline's whereabouts. Castiel's shoulders sagged another fraction under the weight of this failure. He'd let Kelly get away from him, and the only reason she was carrying Lucifer's child was because he'd let the Devil out of the Cage in the first place. Just mess upon mess that was his responsibility to clean up.

He ran a hand down his face and finally decided to get up, move around. Staring at the evidence board wasn't helping. Perhaps he should have accompanied Sam and Dean on their latest hunt, but it had sounded like a simple case, and finding Kelly was a top priority.

Except, the lack of progress was beginning to weigh on him. Castiel could really use a win, as the brothers would say.

His phone beeped with a text notification, and Castiel reached for it, wondering if the Winchesters' case had ended up more complicated and they were contacting him to come help. It might have been wishful thinking.

The message was from a Winchester, just not the one Castiel had been expecting.

_"Hey. I know Sam and Dean are still mad at me and ignoring my calls, but I found a lead on Kelly Kline. I understand if you're angry with me, too, but this is important enough I hope we can work together."_

Castiel pressed his mouth into a thin line. Yes, the brothers were still upset that Mary had chosen to stay with the British Men of Letters, even after some questionable actions recently, including Ketch trapping Castiel in a cave with a sea witch that had tried to drain his power. Castiel didn't really expect any different from that abhorrent man, though he was saddened that Mary hadn't chosen to come back to the bunker with her sons. He saw how deeply that had hurt them.

Which was why Castiel was torn as to what to do now. He didn't want to go behind Sam's and Dean's backs, but if Mary really did have a lead on Kelly, then they would have to put aside their differences and work together. The lead was probably also time sensitive, and the boys were already away on a case…

Castiel typed out a response.  _"Where should I meet you?"_

A moment later, his phone pinged with a reply containing an address that was only a few counties away. Castiel grabbed a pad of paper and a pen and wrote out a note for the Winchesters, letting them know where he was headed, but leaving out that he was meeting Mary. He would wait to see what she knew about Kelly before involving Sam and Dean, if necessary. Although, Castiel hoped he might be able to find Kelly and convince her to come back to the bunker on his own, thereby finally being able to deliver a win to the Winchesters.

He grabbed his keys and headed out.

An hour later, he pulled onto an old farm road. Could Kelly have been hiding out here? It was certainly isolated enough, though Castiel worried how she was taking care of herself. Carrying a nephilim wasn't exactly a normal pregnancy.

He slowed his truck to a stop halfway down the dirt drive when he came across a black van parked in the middle of the road. Castiel wondered why Mary wasn't driving her blue coupe, but perhaps she had transitioned to using the British Men of Letters' vehicles, along with their other resources. It didn't seem her style, though.

Castiel turned his truck's engine off and climbed out. The van door opened, and he stiffened when it wasn't Mary who exited.

Ketch, dressed in full black leather, turned to regard Castiel coolly. "Well, that was easy."

Castiel drew his shoulders back, severe dislike for this man bristling his spine. "Where's Mary?"

Ketch smirked. "Not here."

Had she told the British Men of Letters about Kelly and Lucifer's baby? Well, she had no reason not to, though Castiel had no illusions that these people wouldn't employ any means necessary to stop Lucifer's offspring from being born—including killing Kelly. Did Mary really not see that? But why wasn't she here after asking for Castiel's help?

Ketch's smug mien deepened as he studied Castiel. "It was easy to clone her phone since she's in our employ," he said, somehow having guessed Castiel's thoughts.

Unease prickled down his neck. Then, Mary hadn't sent that message? The British Men of Letters had lured him out here…

"Do you even have a lead on Kelly Kline?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, no," Ketch replied. "Though our people are working on that mess. Something the Winchesters should have taken care of from the get-go."

"They were otherwise preoccupied in a government detention center," Castiel retorted sharply, as Ketch knew full well about that.

The man's mouth pursed in distaste. "Yes, well, it's time to make sure they don't continue to get distracted."

Castiel furrowed his brow. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Ketch's expression turned flinty. "It's clear that Sam and Dean have become too…attached. To you."

Castiel blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You're a hindrance rather than an asset to them, and we've decided that it's for the best to remove you from the equation."

Castiel's back straightened sharply in indignation, but underneath the fury was a flicker of wariness, because the British Men of Letters  _did_  possess weapons that could be used against angels. He considered drawing his blade and putting this mortal in his place, but before he could, the back doors of the van burst open, revealing a team of three men armed with guns. There were several soft clicks and swishes, and Castiel felt the forceful sting of darts striking his chest.

Burning fire immediately followed, and he staggered under the shock of it. What…? Liquid lava coursed through him, and he tasted sulfur in the back of his throat.

_Demon blood?_

The foreign substance seared through his veins, lashing at his grace like molten brimstone. Castiel took a stumbling step, trying to muster the focus to fight back, but his vision was already blackening. His heart gave a leap of fear as he collapsed forward onto his hands and knees, chest burning and limbs going weak. The last thing Castiel saw was Ketch's blurred visage standing over him before he pitched onto his side and fell into darkness.

* * *

Dean shoveled another chunk of dirt over the decapitated corpse he and Sam had dumped in the conveniently open grave where they'd finally tracked down and killed the ghoul that had been eating its way through the town's cemetery—and a few of the living residents. It felt good to get a win, even if it was rather easily won. But with their inability to find Kelly and Satan Jr., Dean needed to feel like he was actually accomplishing something, and ridding this town of its ghoul problem fit the bill.

Too bad his happy high was steadily being dragged down by exhaustion and a queasy feeling in his stomach. As he tossed another shovelful of dirt into the hole, his muscles twinged, and a chill started to ache in his joints. Dammit, he'd better not be coming down with something.

He sucked it up and continued the work until the corpse was fully buried and they'd smoothed the top layer of dirt out.

Sam planted the blade of his shovel in the ground and rested his forehead on his hands at the top of the handle, chest heaving as he seemed unable to catch his breath.

"Getting out of shape, Sammy?" Dean snarked.

"I think I may be coming down with something," Sam replied, voice slightly hoarse.

Dean frowned; his brother was looking a little pasty. "I'm not feeling too great myself," he admitted.

Sam shrugged. "We've been under a lot of stress lately."

Dean wasn't going to talk about that. As far as he was concerned, the issue with Mary was closed and done.

His expression hardened. "Or it's witches. We should look for hex bags." He hefted his shovel over his shoulder, wincing as his muscles protested, and headed back toward the Impala.

"There's been no signs of witches in this town," Sam countered, shuffling to keep up.

"Not taking any chances," Dean replied, and got down on his hands and knees to scan the undercarriage. Hm, no hex bags. He couldn't suppress a groan as he pushed himself back to his feet.

Sam gave him a sympathetically pointed look. "It's probably a cold or the flu."

"Both of us, though, really?"

"We both could have been exposed to something. There aren't any hex bags out here."

Dean went around to open the trunk anyway. After rifling through their bags, he checked under the Impala's hood, but Sam was right, there weren't any hex bags. Dean grumbled under his breath as he slammed the hood closed. The flu. Just great.

At least they'd finished the case, so they could head straight back to the bunker. They stowed the shovels in the trunk and climbed into the car. Dean cranked the heat up to high, only to turn it down three minutes later.

"Wanna stop at a motel?" Sam asked, looking no less miserable huddled in the passenger seat.

"No."

He wanted to get home to his own bed and sleep this damn bug off. Or, better yet, ask Cas to heal them. It wasn't taking advantage of the angel since Cas was always happy to rid them of their maladies, and Dean was more consciously aware of  _asking_ , not demanding.

So he focused on getting home as quickly as possible, trying his best to ignore the pounding in his head and sloshing in his stomach. At least it didn't get any worse on the drive, though by the time they pulled up in front of the bunker, Dean just wanted to collapse on his memory foam mattress. They left the gear in the trunk and headed inside.

"Cas, we're back," Dean called as they descended the stairs. The war room was empty, the evidence board on Kelly exactly as they'd left it. Dean veered into the library, also vacant. "Cas?"

"Look at this," Sam said, picking up a sheet of paper from the study table. "Cas found a lead on Kelly and went to look into it."

Dean took the note from his brother and skimmed it, then scowled. "Why didn't he text us?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe he didn't want to interrupt the case."

"He still should have called," Dean groused. "Not left a note like a ninth grade girl."

Sam angled a bitch-face at him. "You're just mad he's not here to get rid of your flu bug. Which won't kill you, you know."

"Shut up," Dean grumbled. Okay, maybe he was a little grouchy because he was still feeling nauseous and feverish. He let out a heavy sigh. "Alright, let's go."

Sam shot him an incredulous look. "Go where?"

"Meet up with Cas, see if he found anything on Kelly."

Sam groaned. "Come on, man, I'm beat. We're both beat. We're not gonna be much use sick."

"Cas can heal us when we get there," Dean countered.

"I'm sorry, but I am not getting in the car with you again." Sam crossed his arms. "You ran three stop signs on our way here."

"I don't run stop signs, Sam."

His brother snorted. "See, that's my point. You didn't even realize it. Seriously, Dean, let's just go to bed. We can catch up with Cas in the morning after we've gotten some sleep."

Dean huffed, but he supposed he didn't have a very good argument not to do precisely that. He pulled out his phone. "Fine, I'll just text Cas that we're back and to let us know what he's found."

"Don't mention the flu," Sam said as he started toward the dormitory wing.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean mumbled, typing out a message. He told Cas they were home and gonna get some sleep, and to call them in the morning with an update on his lead. Then he also headed toward his room where he didn't even bother changing out of his clothes, and simply plopped on the bed where he promptly passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel woke to pounding in his head and aching joints. He hadn't felt this wrecked in a long time, not even after the sea witch had fed on his grace.

The memory of what happened slammed into the forefront of his mind, and he bolted upright in alarm, only for his head to swim painfully. Castiel pressed one palm to his temple while the other lashed out to brace himself against the wall. Something squeaked beneath him, and he managed to pry his eyelids open enough to see that he was laying on a stiff, narrow cot.

Breathing through the dizziness, Castiel forced his eyes open all the way and slowly took in the rest of his surroundings. He was in a small room with corrugated walls that looked more like a shipping container, save that LED lights had been installed in the ceiling and there was the cot against the rear wall. Other than that, it was bare, and reminded him of a cell.

Castiel's stomach churned unpleasantly, and not just from the lingering queasiness, though he could feel traces of demon blood still in his system, leaving his grace raw and unreliable. Simply breaking down that door and walking out of here would not be an option at the moment.

But, he hadn't been restrained in any way. If his grace could recover quickly, he might have a chance. He swung his legs over the edge of the cot and planted his feet on the floor, squeezing his eyes shut when the movement sent spikes through his skull. Castiel tried to take several deep, centering breaths, not wanting to allow trepidation and panic get the better of him. But he knew exactly who he was facing here, and the fact that the British Men of Letters hadn't bound him with sigiled chains or anything did not make him overconfident.

Castiel patted down his pockets on a whim, but it turned out he had been divested of his phone. He wished he had mentioned Mary in the note he'd left the Winchesters. At least that way when they didn't hear from him, they could reach out to her to ask why, and she would tell them she hadn't contacted Castiel at all. Assuming she was, in fact, not in on this. Castiel was having a hard time holding onto any faith at the moment.

He closed his eyes and turned his concentration inward, trying to coax his weakened grace into igniting. He just needed enough of a burst to break down this door and get past any security measures that might be on the other side. As long as there weren't any more trank guns loaded with demon blood. Just a few more minutes…

Unfortunately, he was not given that. The lock on his cell door suddenly clicked, and the door grated open. Castiel stiffened as Ketch stepped inside, followed by another man in a white lab coat. They were each carrying an item—Ketch, a glass cylinder with gold clamps on both ends, and the other a golden egg shape that Castiel was well familiar with.

He eyed the men, anxiety setting his nerves on edge. Why bring the exorcism device unless they planned to use it? And what would be the purpose? Although, if they did expel him from his vessel, he might then be able to escape, at least. Castiel was loathe to leave his physical body behind, so much more than a mere vessel now, but it would be the better option compared to what he was sure these men had planned for him.

Still, he wasn't naive enough to presume it would be that easy…

"What are you doing?" Castiel asked, testing his grace in the hopes that it would stir, but it only sputtered under the strain. There was still his angel blade, but he would have to act quickly.

Ketch lifted the cylinder he was holding. "Testing a new device."

He nodded to the other man holding the egg, and Castiel reached for his blade to draw it from the ether, yet before he could materialize it, the man in the lab coat twisted the top half of the exorcism device, and the runes all along the sides lit up.

Castiel felt several magical hooks instantly spear his grace with such force that it stole the breath from his lungs. He lost his hold on the ether, his blade slipping away as his back arched and a paralyzed scream stuck in his throat. The barbs tore at his grace, ripping it from his physical vessel. But he'd inhabited it for so long, been resurrected in it multiple times, that there were pieces of him woven into every sinew and fiber, and the spell brutally snatched and wrenched at it all.

Bright light filled the cell as wisps of grace billowed out in every direction, shredded pieces viciously torn loose without regard. But then the spell found his core, and Castiel felt himself being sucked upward, his connection with his physical body suddenly being cut. He was weightless, disoriented by the abrupt shift to celestial energy, and tossed about in the vortex that had ripped his essence apart.

Castiel twisted in the air, trying to escape, yet before he could reorient himself, Ketch opened one end of the container he was holding, and a series of Enochian sigils that had previously been invisible and dormant now lit up along the glass sides. More magic dug its claws into Castiel's true form, only this time he was being sucked downward, right into that container and compressed into a tight ball as Ketch slammed the lid shut. The sigils dimmed and faded, but Castiel could still feel them like a steel trap all around him.

He threw himself at the glass in an effort to shatter it and escape. The sigils briefly flared again with an electric jolt that had him reeling back in shock and dazed pain.

Ketch lifted the cylinder to peer inside, his mass looming so much bigger with Castiel constricted in this manner. The British man made a pleased sort of sound. "I'd say that works quite well."

He then turned toward Castiel's vessel, now collapsed on the floor. The lab tech went over and knelt down to press two fingers under the jaw line.

"No pulse," he reported. He pulled out some kind of scanning device from inside his lab coat and ran it over the body. "It doesn't look like there's a human soul in here," he said. "Fascinating."

Ketch made a bland noise in the back of his throat. "The Old Men will be disappointed; they'd hoped to debrief the vessel."

Castiel felt a flicker of relief that Jimmy was not here to endure this. He suspected that 'debrief' was too kind a word for what the British Men of Letters would have actually done.

"Ah well," Ketch went on. "Take care of it, would you?" He turned to exit the cell.

Wait, they weren't putting him back?

Fury, terror, and panic swelled up, and Castiel threw himself at the glass once more, to no effect, save to receive another painful zap. Ketch's mouth pursed in a smug moue as he raised the cylinder to eye level again. And then he was continuing forward, swinging the container at his side as he walked. Though Castiel remained stably suspended inside, the movement was making him dizzy with the floor and ceiling switching back and forth like a pendulum.

He focused on mustering his grace and pushing upon the seal, but once again, nothing happened. He may have been free of demon blood now that he'd been separated from his vessel, but the British Men of Letters had known what they were doing when they constructed this prison. It was airtight and unbreakable.

They turned a corner, and Ketch came to an abrupt halt. Castiel's vision swam for a second before he spotted Mary approaching down the corridor.

"The nest is taken care of," she said in lieu of a greeting.

"Excellent," Ketch replied. "Good work."

Her gaze dropped to the container he was holding. "What is that?"

Castiel tried to shout Mary's name, but the sigils must have been muting him, because she didn't react. Not that she likely would have been able to understand or endure his true voice anyway. But Castiel kept shouting, desperation clawing at his heart.

Ketch cast a sidelong look at him twisting in the cylinder. "Oh, just an acquisition."

Mary spared the glowing container one last look before shrugging and turning away. Castiel slammed against the glass, and this time the shock rippled through him so violently that he collapsed into a ball in the center.

Ketch resumed his path through what Castiel assumed was the British Men of Letters' headquarters of operation in America. He finally came to a storage room and strode to a cabinet, which he opened. Castiel's stomach flipped as the cylinder was lifted and put on a bare shelf.

Ketch's mouth twitched, but he didn't say anything, just closed the door, locking Castiel in a cold, dark space, with only the muted glow of his grace suffusing the otherwise empty cabinet. But even that couldn't pierce the blackness pressing in all around him, much as despair was.

* * *

Sam woke with a startled gasp, bolting upright in bed. His heart thundered against his rib cage and it took a couple of moments to get his rapid breathing under control. He frantically swept his gaze around his room in the bunker; he was home, he was safe.

That had been a weird dream. It hadn't even been anything specific, not like his usual nightmares of Hell or Lucifer. Just a sudden bright light and pain, and then darkness and terror. The feeling still lingered, too, and the fact that it didn't have a definitive source set Sam's nerves on edge even more.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and ran his hands through his hair. Maybe it'd been a fever dream or something, though his head and stomach weren't bothering him like they had the night before, and he wasn't experiencing any aches or chills. But he still felt…off. Maybe he was wrong and this wasn't the flu.

Getting to his feet, Sam grabbed a clean shirt and headed for the kitchen, hoping some food and coffee might dispel the remnants of his brain fog.

He found Dean already there, in his dead-guy's robe, brewing a fresh pot. Sam frowned as he glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn't even 7:30am.

"You're up early," he commented.

Dean made an unintelligible grunt as he poured a mug of steaming brown liquid. "Didn't sleep well."

Sam went to the cupboard to get his own cup. "Yeah, me neither. Weird dreams."

Dean paused between sips. "Huh. Me too."

Sam's mouth turned down further. "How's the flu?" he asked.

His brother shrugged. "False alarm, I guess."

Sam's thoughts turned pensive as he watched Dean take a long drag of his coffee. Though he was no longer feeling queasy himself, a different sick feeling was starting to worm its way through his stomach. Something was going on here. He just didn't know what. And despite the lack of hex bags, he was reconsidering Dean's witch theory. They could probably use Cas's help with this after all.

"You hear from Cas?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "He never responded to my text." He paused. "Think we should be worried?"

Sam's mouth tightened. The rational answer would be no; Cas had only been following his lead for a day and if he'd found Kelly, it would make sense for his full attention to be on her.

So why did Sam's gut cramp painfully at the question?

"I'll try calling him." Forgoing the coffee, Sam pulled out his phone and dialed the angel's number. It rang seven times before eventually going to voice mail. Sam hung up, that tightness in his stomach increasing. "No answer."

Dean snatched his own phone from the counter and started tapping the screen. After a few moments, his brows furrowed. "Cas's GPS says he's only forty miles away."

Sam leaned over to look at the map on the screen and the blinking red dot. "Hey, isn't that the spot Cas said in his note he was going to? If he's still there, maybe he found Kelly after all."

Dean set his mug of coffee aside. "Now can we head out there?" he groused.

Sam almost delivered a snarky retort, but the truth was he did want to go and find Cas, feeling an inexplicable need to make sure their friend was okay.

"Yeah."

They left the kitchen to go get changed, and fifteen minutes later were in the car heading toward some countryside out in the boonies. Sam texted Cas to let him know they were on their way, but still got no response. He wished he could explain away the bad feeling that kept niggling at him. Sure, Cas had taken some hits recently, but it wasn't like the angel wasn't a capable warrior. There was really no reason whatsoever to assume he was in trouble.

But Sam still couldn't shake that feeling of dread.

When they pulled onto the old farm road and spotted Cas's truck pushed off to the side into some bushes, that feeling of dread shot up to full blown terror.

Dean abruptly pressed the brakes and threw the Impala in park, and both of them scrambled from the vehicle. Had Cas crashed? Except, the road was so narrow and uneven that Sam couldn't imagine the angel would be speeding down it. He and Dean circled around to the front to peer inside the cab, but it was empty. Sam scanned the sides and back bumper for signs of damage. He didn't find any, so it didn't look like Cas had been run off the road by someone. So what the hell happened?

Sam whipped out his phone and dialed Cas's number again, willing him to pick up this time.

He didn't.

A buzzing sound came from the front of the truck, and Sam twisted back around toward it. Dean beat him to the window and peered inside the cab, then swore. Yanking the door open, he reached in and pulled out Cas's phone with Sam's name showing up on the incoming call screen. Sam's heart dropped down into his stomach. What would have made Cas stash his truck and leave his phone behind?

Nothing good.

"Okay, he was following a lead on Kelly," Sam started to work out. "Maybe she was hiding out here."

Dean marched back to the road and peered down it toward a distant farmhouse. "Yeah, and then what? Why isn't Cas's truck down there?"

Sam clenched his jaw. "I don't know."

Dean crossed the dirt drive and studied the ground. "No skid marks." He paused. "There's another set of tire tracks. Big like Cas's truck. Maybe a van."

Sam frowned and walked over to look for himself. Would Cas have switched vehicles? But he wouldn't have left his phone.

Sam's gaze caught on a tuft of red in a patch of grass a few feet away, and he moved toward it. Bending down, that burble of fear took another jolt. Why was a tranquilizer dart all the way out here? Sam picked it up to examine it. Surely Cas wouldn't have tried to use something like this on Kelly.

There was an odd red tinge to the small vial that didn't look like typical tranquilizer, and Sam brought it closer for a better look. An acrid tang faintly brushed his nostrils, and he recoiled so sharply he almost fell backward, dropping the dart on the ground.

"D-Dean," he stuttered. "Th- that had demon blood in it."

"What?" Dean stormed over and gaped at the dart. "What the hell? Who would use demon blood in a trank?"

"Demons?" But no, that didn't sound right. Demons were old school brute force. And demons were after Kelly because they  _wanted_  Lucifer's kid to be born, so they would have no reason to hurt her.

Sam swallowed hard, his stomach churning again. "What if…what if it was used on an angel?"

Dean shot him an incredulous look before his eyes widened, and his gaze went back to Cas's empty truck. He swore again. "Okay, so someone shot Cas full of demon blood and then grabbed him? Who?"

Sam had no idea.  _Maybe_  demons would think to use their own blood on an angel, but that meant preparation, and why would demons want to capture an angel? Or were they after Cas specifically? Again, why?

There were just too many unknown variables here. But one thing was starting to take shape.

Sam swallowed again as he gazed around at the scene. "Think this happened sometime yesterday?"

Dean looked around, too, jaw hard. "Maybe."

Sam nodded slowly. "Like when we started feeling sick."

"So?"

"And then we both had weird dreams. Pain and darkness, right?"

Dean quirked a confused look at him. "Uh, yeah. You think Cas was trying to reach out through dreams? Let us know he was in trouble?"

Sam kinda doubted that. Even though he'd never experienced angel communication through dreams himself, from what Dean had described, it was a lot more tangible than the amorphous feelings from last night.

"Maybe. Or maybe we're somehow feeling part of what's happening to Cas. Pretty sure demon blood in an angel would work like poison, make them pretty sick."

Dean stared at him incredulously for a moment. "You're saying we got sick because  _Cas_  was dosed with demon blood? Explain how that even makes sense."

Sam worked his jaw. "Best guess? That spell we used to transfer soul energy to Cas to heal him. We used it a lot more than I think it was intended to be used."

"Cas needed it," Dean interrupted. "And it worked."

"Yeah, I know," Sam continued, suppressing an annoyed huff. "But what if using it that often created a link or something?"

Dean's brows rose sharply. "Seriously? That's what you're going with, a soul bond?"

"You telling me you haven't had a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach since this morning? That last night's dreams weren't really images, but feeling this overwhelming terror you couldn't explain?"

Dean didn't answer, but a muscle in his jaw ticked.

"Cas used to talk about that profound bond you two had because he raised you from Hell," Sam went on. "He used his grace to resurrect you, body and soul. Maybe that bond he mentioned was literal. And that's exactly what we've been doing for him lately."

Dean started to pace. "If that's true…if we've got some kind of hoodoo connection with Cas…then that means he's been captured, poisoned with demon blood, and is terrified." His voice nearly hitched on that last part, and Sam's stomach tightened in response. Because, yeah, trying to imagine what could possibly terrify Cas, a badass angel, terrified  _them_.

"And how does this help us find him?" Dean rambled on. "Does it come with its own set of GPS coordinates? Because his phone is here." He gestured sharply with the hand still holding Cas's cell.

Sam tried to wrangle his own mounting fear and anxiety and focus on doing something about it. "I don't know. We'll have to go back to the bunker, research that spell more, see if this side effect or whatever has been documented before, and what else it means."

Dean's expression hardened. Sam didn't like it, either. Cas was missing and they had no leads, except for a long shot neither of them knew anything about. But it might be something, and Sam just hoped this bad feeling was because Cas was in trouble—but still alive. He wouldn't let himself think otherwise.

Dean went back to the truck and started fishing through the cab again. He came back out with a set of keys. "You wanna drive Cas's truck? I don't really wanna leave it here."

"Yeah, sure."

They'd take Cas's truck home. And then they'd find their friend and bring him home too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Day to those who celebrate it! And happy Monday to those that don't. Here's an early update for you all as a gift. ^_^

Mary sat on her cot in her small quarters, elbows braced on her thighs as she held up her phone to stare at the screen. Text after text stared back at her, her own words giving multiple apologies, pleading for understanding, asking if they could just talk. All of it went unanswered.

She put the phone away, hurt and a little stung that Dean had cut her out like this. She hadn't been actively involved in what happened with the sea witch and Castiel. If she hadn't been injured and in the hospital, of course she would have helped her boys rescue Cas, and she certainly wouldn't have let Ketch just seal the angel into the cave with the sea witch to begin with. Mary didn't think she should be blamed for actions that weren't hers.

And yes, she was choosing to still work with the British Men of Letters, despite all that, but they got good results. They were systematically and efficiently ridding the country of all monsters. Didn't that balance out their flaws and imperfections? They  _were_  saving lives. And Cas was okay; it had all worked out in the end.

Except that Dean apparently wasn't going to forgive her for what he perceived to be a betrayal. Sam might have been more understanding, but he was siding with his older brother on this one. And Cas…well, Mary hadn't tried reaching out to him.

Perhaps she should have. But despite her point about having not been involved in the sea witch incident, she nevertheless felt a modicum of guilt. Castiel had come with her boys to look for her, to rescue her, and had been hurt in the process. And Mary was not oblivious to Ketch's cavalier attitude toward anything not human. He'd made plenty of condescending comments about Cas in the time she had worked with him. She had just disregarded them in favor of keeping their team running smoothly.

Because the ultimate goal in all this was to rid the United States of monsters, so her boys wouldn't have to be hunters anymore. They could have the lives she'd wanted for them, the freedom to do anything else they might want to. Her baby Sammy had gotten into  _Stanford_.

Mary gave herself a small shake. Her boys would understand. She had to make sacrifices in the meantime so they could have a better future.

She pushed herself to her feet and decided to go for a walk, hoping to clear her head. The halls were empty as she meandered through them. The British team on the ground in America wasn't very big. Mick handled the desk stuff, there were a few lab techs, and a handful of musclemen, but Ketch—and now Mary—were the ones who primarily took down the monsters.

She was approaching a corner when she heard Ketch's voice from around the bend. Not wanting him to ask her if anything was wrong, Mary slowed to a stop and started to turn around, when a snippet of conversation gave her pause.

"Just keep the body on ice. The Old Men want to see if they can think up any experiments to perform on it."

"It is a curious situation," someone replied. Mary thought she recognized the voice of one of the techs. "An angel possessing a vessel without a human soul."

She frowned. They were talking about an angel? Why?

"Yes, well," Ketch said blandly. "That is of no interest to me, unless you can somehow come up with more fun toys from dissecting it."

The sound of retreating footsteps had Mary peeking around the corner as Ketch and the tech disappeared down another juncture. Her stomach churned slightly at the callous mention of dissection. Of an angel.

She supposed if she didn't know Castiel, she might not have cared one way or the other. From what she'd heard, angels had caused a lot of destruction to humans, and Dean had had plenty of bad things to say about them in general, Cas being the exception.

But that comment about an angel's vessel without a soul…that was niggling something in the back of her mind…

Mary crept forward, stepping lightly across the hall to the only room in this section of corridor. She didn't know what it was used for, but it wasn't locked. She pushed the door open a crack and slipped inside, then flicked the light switch. Horror stole the oxygen from her lungs at the body lying on a metal slab.

No, it couldn't be…

Mary gaped in stupefaction for a long moment, unable to fully believe what she was seeing—trying to rationalize the horrifying sight before her eyes. But nothing could explain why Castiel was in this room, laid out like a corpse.

She finally jolted herself out of her stupor and moved closer, reaching out to touch him. She recoiled sharply. He was cold. Cold as in…

No, the British Men of Letters wouldn't…

And yet Mary knew with sinking certainty that they would. They  _had_. Anything not human was a scourge, creatures not worthy of life.

And that included angels.

She pivoted and fled, speed walking her way back to her quarters. Her chest was tight with constricted breaths as she prayed she wouldn't run into anyone. Thankfully, she made it back to her bunk without incident, and shut the door as she pulled out her phone and dialed Dean's number. It rang once before going to voicemail, like he had hit Ignore.

She pulled up the unanswered text thread and began typing.  _"I need to talk to you about Castiel. It's urgent."_

The return call was almost immediate, and Mary briefly fumbled with the swipe to answer it.

"It was those British dicks, wasn't it?" Dean snarled. "Where did they take him?"

So they knew Castiel was missing. Except, missing didn't cover it…

"Dean," she said, throat tightening. "I swear, I didn't know. I just found—"

"Where is he?" Dean demanded, each word enunciated darkly.

"I'm sorry," Mary repeated, closing her eyes as her voice cracked. "I…I found his body. I- he's gone, Dean. I'm sorry."

Never had a sincere apology felt so hollow. She hadn't been behind this, but she'd sided with those who were. Just like with the sea witch situation.

Mary didn't think her choosing to stay with her boys would have prevented this, but she wasn't blind anymore to how wrong her choice of allegiance had been.

There was silence on the other end for a prolonged moment.

"No," Dean finally bit out. "Cas isn't dead."

Mary shook her head, hating herself with each passing second. "His body's in a British Men of Letters' storage room, Dean. Cold. I checked."

She heard muffled voices in the background, probably Sam.

"Cas is still alive," Dean reiterated a beat later. "I don't know how or where, but he is. And we're going to find him." He paused. "The only question is, are you gonna help us, or stand with the bastards we're going to mow down?"

Mary closed her eyes again. How had everything gone so wrong? How had  _she_  made such a horrible mistake?

She wanted to convince Dean not to come here, not to start a fight they probably wouldn't win. But she couldn't bring herself to try; she knew he'd never listen. As much as she hated it, Dean had to see for himself. And, well, Castiel's body didn't belong here with a group of barbarians who wanted to dissect him. So Mary would choose again.

"You."

"Great," Dean said, but it was harsh and brittle. "Where?"

* * *

Dean's knuckles were white around the steering wheel as he bore down on the gas pedal with single-minded intent. Sam was a silent, firm presence in the passenger seat.

They were going to war.

And maybe they would be outnumbered, but that had never stopped them before, not when fallen angels had been running rampant, not when Leviathan had been slowly infiltrating the corporate world, and not when all of Heaven and Hell had been after their heads. These British douches had no idea who they were messing with. But they were going to find out the hard way.

Dean's jaw tightened, and he cleared his throat. "Y-you're sure about this soul bond?" he asked. "That if Cas were…gone, we would have felt it?"

Sam didn't answer right away. "I have to believe we would have," he finally said quietly. "I mean, that has to be why we felt sick earlier."

"Mom said she found his body."

And that coiled a knot of dread in his gut like nothing else. Dean couldn't even distinguish what was his own anxiety and what might have been some echo of Cas's feelings filtering through this weird connection Sam thought they had.

"Maybe they exorcised him," Sam said carefully.

Dean tightened his grip around the wheel. Neither of them wanted to speculate on what the British Men of Letters would have wanted to do that for.

"Think he went back to Heaven, then?" Dean asked.

Sam was silent for another beat. "Maybe."

And though most of the dicks upstairs seemed to still not like Cas much, hopefully they wouldn't have imprisoned him or something. And again, they'd  _know_  if Cas had been killed…right?

"Maybe he's off looking for another vessel," Sam went on.

"Yeah, well, we're getting the old one back," Dean growled.

He had warned Ketch. And the Brit had crossed a line no one got away with—messing with Dean's family.

The small storage facility the British Men of Letters were using as their base came into view up ahead, just a handful of shipping containers set out in a tetris-like configuration, surrounded by a perimeter fence. There was a single armed guard at the gate, and then another up near the door to the compound.

Dean narrowed his steely gaze and rammed the gas. The Impala's engine gave a mighty roar as it crashed right through the flimsy chain-link fence, forcing the guard to dive out of the way. Dean then slammed on the brakes and cranked the wheel, skidding Baby around into a sideways stop. He opened his door, gun already in hand, and shot the guard running after them. Sam was out and shooting the one on his side at the same time. Both dropped, but it looked like they were wearing Kevlar.

Dean marched over to make sure his guy was out, then grabbed a set of zip-ties off the guard's own belt and secured his wrists and ankles. When he straightened, he'd found Sam had done the same to the other guy, though one of his shots had found flesh and the guy's arm was bleeding.

Dean looked around intently. That seemed it for the first line of defense.

He swept around the front of the Impala, following Sam to the security enclosure in front of the door, the gate having been left wide open when the second guard ran out to stop them.

Before they reached the inner door, it clicked and started to grate open. They whipped their weapons up, only to startle when it was their mom who stepped out. Mary flicked her gaze over the downed guards before gesturing them inside.

"I put the security cameras on a loop," she said. "But someone will figure it out eventually."

Dean's brows rose in dubious surprise. A couple of months ago, she couldn't even use a computer. And then he'd thought playing Words with Friends with her had been a big step. What else had his mom done and learned since leaving them?

Dean shoved down that train of thought and the maelstrom of emotions it evoked. "Take us to Cas," he demanded.

The sympathetic and guilty expression on her face made Dean want to punch something. Preferably Ketch. But that was second in priority to finding Cas. Or at least his vessel.

Mary led them through a series of corridors that were surprisingly empty. But from what she'd briefly told them over the phone, this wasn't a large operation. Still, someone was bound to notice something was wrong and sound the alarm.

But for the moment, they made it to a darkened room. Mary opened the doors and flipped a light switch. Dean came to an abrupt halt.

"I'm sorry," Mary said softly at his side.

Dean could only stare. She'd told them…but he hadn't exactly believed it. Now he was faced with the very tangible sight of Cas lying on a metal slab, face pale and eyes closed. What if he and Sam were wrong? That nightmare…there'd been bright light and pain, just like when angels die.

"We need to find out what happened," Sam spoke up hoarsely.

Dean gave himself a sharp shake. Right. Action; they needed to take action.

And this time, Dean wasn't going to show Ketch any mercy.

Sam stepped closer to Cas's body and started looking it over. "I don't see any wounds. He might have been exorcised after all."

"Exorcised?" Mary repeated.

"Yeah," Sam said tightly. "We know they have the tech for it."

A lump formed in Dean's throat as he thought about the last time Cas had been subjected to that, his true form reduced to a weakened puddle barely shimmering with life.

"But why?" he snapped. "Why boot Cas out of his vessel and keep the body like this?"

Sam shrugged helplessly. "We need to find Ketch and ask."

Oh, Dean was definitely on board with that.

"But if Cas was exorcised," Sam continued, "he probably escaped. Multidimensional wavelengths of celestial intent can pass through walls."

Great, so Cas was floating around out there somewhere, if he wasn't hurt like last time…

Mom's expression had shifted in the past few moments, a mixture of deep thought and dread. "Angels outside their…"

"Vessel," Sam supplied.

"Vessel…look like…pure energy?"

"I guess," Sam answered.

"Not important right now," Dean said snippily. "We need to find Ketch and beat his ass until he tells us exactly what he did to Cas."

"Oh god," Mary breathed.

Dean and Sam snapped their gazes to her. She lifted wide eyes to meet theirs.

"Ketch had this glass container, like a lantern or something. It had some kind of glowing blue energy inside."

Dean's heart leaped into his throat, and he exchanged a startled look with Sam.

Sam swallowed hard. "That sounds like grace."

So the British dickbags had exorcised Cas to capture his true form. Dean seethed with mounting fury at the thought of why they'd want to do that. But at least it sounded like Cas was, in fact, alive. Dean hadn't been wrong about that.

"Okay," Sam started, "so Cas is probably somewhere here. Mom, stay with his vessel?"

"You can't be thinking of taking everyone on by yourself," she protested. "And I know the layout of this place better than you."

"Then give us a run-down," Dean countered. "But we can't risk losing Cas's vessel."

"And if we split up, there's less chance of us all getting caught," Sam added. "They might not know you're helping us yet."

A muscle in Mary's jaw ticked, but she nevertheless proceeded to give them a quick description of the compound's setup and where Ketch's office was. "I have no idea where they'd be keeping that container, though."

"That's fine," Dean replied. "Ketch will tell us."

"Do not underestimate him," Mary warned sharply. "He's dangerous."

Dean paused long enough to give her a silent look that asked why she had chosen a man like that over her sons, compounded by the disappointment and bitterness still festering inside him because of it.

But he didn't say anything out loud, and simply turned on his heel to head back out into the corridor. Sam joined him a second later, and they started navigating their way to Ketch's office. So far the alarm still hadn't been sounded, but it was only a matter of time.

They'd only taken a few turns when Sam stopped abruptly. "Hold up. I think- I think I can sense Cas."

Dean's brows shot upward. "Seriously?" He tried to see if he was feeling anything to suggest the angel was physically nearby, but it was hard to filter out his own tempestuous emotions. "You sure?"

Sam nodded carefully. "Yeah. Let's- let's go this way."

Dean's mouth thinned into a tight line, hoping they weren't wasting precious minutes on a wild goose chase. But he went ahead and followed his brother down another corridor and to what looked like a storage room. Yet when they slipped inside, all Dean saw were crates and weapons. He exhaled loudly in disappointment and frustration. Now they'd been turned around and would have trouble finding Ketch's office.

Except…he was starting to feel a weird thrum, like a knot of despair and fear roiling in the center of his sternum.

Sam moved toward a large cabinet and flung it open. Dean blinked in dismay at the glass cylinder sitting inside on a shelf, a glowing blue sphere simmering inside.

"Oh my god, Cas," Sam uttered.

Dean stood there in stunned stupefaction. He'd seen angels' true forms before, but to see Cas's like this…stuffed into a box like he was some kind of plasma sample instead of an  _angel_ —or a sentient being…it was somehow worse than if he'd just been in a cage but still in his vessel.

The light pulsed, and Dean felt a spurt of disorientation followed by shock as the grace began to unfurl.

"Cas?" he called, even though he knew his friend couldn't answer like this. Yet he felt another wave of sheer relief that coincided with the grace giving off another vibrant surge. Dean exchanged a bewildered look with Sam. Guess that 'profound bond' or whatever had even more layers to it.

"Hang on, Cas," Sam said, reaching for the container's handle. "We're gonna get you out of here." He grimaced as he lifted the cylinder off the shelf like it was canned goods. "Mom's with your vessel," Sam assured the angel. Dean hoped Cas understood.

There was a nervous flutter in his stomach, suggesting Cas could, but Dean could tell he was worried for  _them_.

And this bond thing was starting to weird him out, so Dean turned to the door. But the moment he and Sam stepped back out into the hall, they found armed guards rushing down from both ends of the corridor.

Shit.

Dean whipped his gun out as bullets started firing. He only managed to get one shot off before he had to duck back into the storage room.

Sam grunted and stumbled over the threshold, dropping the cylinder on the floor and catching himself on a stack of crates. He shot a hand up to clutch his shoulder, which was suddenly oozing blood out between his fingers.

Dean cursed, and spun back around to shove what he could in front of the door to block it. "Sam?"

"Fine," he heard his brother grit out.

The door gave a jolt as a heavy weight slammed into it from the other side, sending one of the crates clattering to the floor. Whatever was in them wasn't heavy enough to form a barricade. Dammit, they were pinned down and outgunned.

The doors burst open and Dean staggered back several steps as a handful of armed men rushed in and surrounded them. Then there was a bright flare of blue light from behind him, and Dean snapped his gaze to the side to see that Sam had opened the cylinder. Maybe Cas could get back to Mom and his own body. And though Dean was loathe to surrender, they didn't have much choice.

"Dean, shut your eyes!" Sam shouted.

Dean instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, having no idea what his brother was doing. There was a gust of power and blazing light that almost pierced his eyelids, and Dean threw an arm up to shield them more. Heavy thuds followed, and he risked peeking at the floor. All the guards were completely unconscious.

Dean might have been okay with Cas smiting their eyes out, but whatever.

He looked up and around for that phantasm of grace. "Cas?"

"I've got him."

Dean turned to his brother, who was standing across the room, looking wide-eyed and a little unbalanced. He narrowed his eyes sharply. "What do you mean you've got him?" Sam wasn't holding a puddle of grace like he had the last time Cas had been outside his vessel.

Sam slowly straightened and rolled his shoulder—the one that was supposed to have a bullet wound. But though there was a little blood on his shirt, his range of movement seemed perfectly fine.

"I gave Cas permission."

Dean's jaw went slack and he sputtered soundlessly for a moment. "You did what? Are you saying he's possessing you?"

"Yeah. Or, hitching a ride. He doesn't want to take control, other than dealing with those guys." Sam gestured to the guards.

Dean gaped at his brother. Cas was  _possessing_  Sam? Oh, this just got way more weirder than the soul bond thing!

"Whose idea was this?" he blurted.

Sam shot him a bitch-face. "Mine. We were trapped, and I didn't want to risk them taking Cas away again." He crossed his arms. "You can't seriously be upset about this. It's  _Cas_."

Dean raised his palms in deference. "No, I know. And I'm glad you were thinking on your feet. I just figured you of all people would be against sharing space with an angel."

Sam pursed his mouth. "Actually, I think my experience made it easier. I knew what to expect, and like I said, this is Cas. I trust him."

Dean wanted to point out that he did, too, but he did wonder why he hadn't thought to let Cas hitch a ride with him. Maybe because, as Sam said, Dean had never been possessed by an angel before. It wasn't on his radar in the same way.

"Is Cas okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "And he can hear you."

Oh, awesome…

Dean tried to shake off the weirdness. "Okay, let's get out of here before more goons show up." He moved toward the door, pausing to peek out cautiously. The hallway was clear.

Sam stepped out first and Dean took up the rear, keeping a scrutinizing eye on his brother. He really wasn't able to detect that Cas was in there at all. And it wasn't like he had a problem with Cas and Sam sharing head space if they were both willing and it saved Cas's life. As long as Cas stayed in the backseat, because Dean did  _not_  want to see Cas's mannerisms on his brother. Or hear that deeper voice…ugh, that would probably scar him for life.

They needed to get Cas back where he belonged, ASAP.

And then they needed to make sure the Brits  _never_  came after their friend again…


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel was very uncomfortable with this situation. With Jimmy's soul having gone to Heaven years ago, it had been a long time since he had 'possessed' someone. And to do it to Sam now, after the younger Winchester's previous experiences with Lucifer and Gadreel, was one of the worst things Castiel could imagine doing.

He curled his consciousness into as small a space as he could in the back of Sam's mind, trying to remain unobtrusive. He did take some small consolation that he wasn't in that wretched container anymore.

_"Cas,"_  Sam's thoughts interrupted.  _"It's fine. I wouldn't have said yes if I didn't mean it."_

Castiel tried not to squirm.  _"You never should have needed to offer. I never should have accepted."_

Except that Sam had been shot, and without a physical vessel of his own, there was no other way for Castiel to heal him. Not that Sam had been dying. Castiel hadn't  _needed_  to heal him. But they were also being surrounded and about to be taken prisoner, and Castiel had balked at the idea of Ketch putting him back in that cylinder and locking him away forever, and so panic had played a part in him accepting Sam's permission to enter his body.

Still, he loathed the circumstances that had brought them all here. And he could leave Sam now. It sounded as though his body was close. But, he'd be vulnerable to that container outside a vessel…

_"Cas, don't."_

Castiel startled. How was Sam able to read him so clearly? An angel's thoughts were always private, unless he chose to open them to his vessel.

He felt a flicker of amusement. Unlike with angels, the vessel's thoughts were always laid bare to the one doing the possessing, though Castiel was doing his best not to look; he didn't want to violate Sam's privacy any more than he already was.

_"I, uh, think that soul energy spell we were doing for a while had some unforeseen side effects,"_  Sam confessed.

Castiel couldn't help but see snippets of memories, conversations Sam and Dean had had recently. He jolted in dismay.  _"Oh no,"_  he murmured.  _"Sam, I'm so sorry. I had no idea that spell would do that."_

Sam rolled his eyes, which Castiel felt even though he wasn't in the 'driver's seat.'  _"Okay, look, I get that maybe it makes you uncomfortable. Though I figured it might have been like that profound bond you said you had with Dean."_

Castiel would have shaken his head if he'd been in his own body.  _"I'm only disconcerted because I don't know what this means for you and Dean."_  And, alright, for himself as well. He'd never been faced with this kind of situation before.

_"It means Dean and I realized something had happened to you a lot sooner than we would have otherwise,"_  Sam replied sternly.  _"But we can talk about it later."_

"Are you two chatting it up in there?" Dean interrupted, eyeing them warily. "You're being really quiet."

Sam huffed. "We're sneaking through an enemy compound, of course I'm quiet. But yeah, I'm filling Cas in on the bond theory."

"Oh. Alright."

They kept moving.

_"I can only imagine how difficult all this is for him,"_  Castiel said quietly.

_"Don't take it personally,"_  Sam replied.  _"Dean just has a hard time adjusting to surprises. He doesn't actually have a problem with the bond. Or us getting you out of here by any means necessary."_

_"I know, and I understand. Dean's never really been able to view me how I truly am—not human. Though he is getting better lately,"_  Castiel hastily added.

Sam exuded a wave of mental agreement, and then fell silent as he and Dean entered a room, only to pull up short. Castiel felt a thrill of horror to see Ketch standing behind Mary with a gun pressed to her side. Both of them had fresh bruises and abrasions, though it was clear who had won the fight.

Ketch sneered at them. "Came for your pet angel, why am I not surprised. But you'll never find him."

Castiel's body was lying on a slab off to the side—

_"Stay hidden,"_  Sam hissed urgently.

Castiel frowned. He could return to his vessel, save Mary…

"You underestimate us," Dean glowered. "You keep underestimating us. Big mistake."

"And you've proven there's just no working with you. You sympathize with the monsters more than you hunt them."

"Cas isn't a monster," Sam injected. "You are." He paused. "And it's time you got out of this country."

Castiel watched through Sam's eyes as the younger Winchester met Mary's gaze with a staunch look that conveyed so much more than Castiel thought possible, but he was able to understand it through Sam. Mary's expression hardened, and she suddenly slammed her head back into Ketch's face.

The man let out a startled yelp and stumbled backward, shooting a hand up to clutch his nose. Mary twisted out of his grip and grabbed his gun arm to wrench it behind his back. Dean raised his own weapon and fired, shooting Ketch in the kneecap. This time the man howled and dropped to the floor.

Dean stormed over. Mary now had Ketch's gun and was holding it trained on him.

"I warned you," Dean said to the Brit, voice low with deadly calm, murder in his flinty eyes. "Now this is war. Either you pack up this little camping trip of yours and go back to England, or we will throw you out."

Ketch seethed at him as he clutched his shattered knee, blood pouring freely from his nose. "War?" he scoffed. "You and what army? You're just school boys; we're an institution. Just ask your mother. She can tell you that you're way out of your league."

"This is our turf," Sam responded. "Every hunter in America knows our name. We may not be organized now, but if we call, they will come. Because we're the Winchesters. We beat the Devil. Twice. So you're the ones way out of your league."

Ketch glared at them. "Good luck getting out of here," he spat. "And you still won't find your angel."

Dean surged forward and punched the man so hard that his head bounced against the wall before he slumped bonelessly to the floor. He then turned to Mary, expression softening a fraction. "You okay?"

"Fine," she replied. "But what about Cas?"

"He's safe," Sam said, stepping toward Castiel's body.  _"Can you get back okay?"_

_"Yes."_

Castiel left Sam's body as quickly as he could and returned to his own, his grace filling every familiar nook and cranny, fitting into the mold perfectly. His eyes shot open with that final burst of power as he settled, and he blinked up at Sam looming over him. Castiel sat up.

Mary's complexion had blanched as she watched the process, and she was now staring at him and Sam with wide eyes.

"Later," Dean said gruffly, staving off any potential questions. He moved closer and clapped Castiel's shoulder. "You okay?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes. I'm glad to be back in my own vessel." He turned to Sam. "But thank you for the ride."

Sam just smiled. "No problem."

Castiel glanced at Ketch, still out cold on the floor. "I don't understand. Why didn't you want me to help?"

"He'll realize you're gone eventually," Sam replied. "But let him think he's won. It'll keep him distracted while we get organized."

"The other American hunters."

Sam's jaw tightened. "Yeah. I don't know if the Brits are gonna leave without a fight."

"Probably not," Dean agreed. "So let's get out of here before half those guys we left back there wake up."

Castiel seconded that plan. Dean and Sam helped him off the slab, and then they all turned to follow Mary out of this labyrinthine compound. Castiel couldn't help but be on edge until they finally broke through to the outside. Apparently most of the guards had been dealt with in that storage room, but Dean was right, they could wake up at any moment. Castiel briefly wondered if he should have killed them after all.

The Impala was outside, a broken security fence behind it. There were two guards on the ground, both awake but already restrained and not able to pose any problems for them. They glared daggers at the Winchesters.

"You won't get away with this," one spat.

Dean paused at the driver's door of the car, eyes darkening. "You know what, I think these guys still don't take us seriously. Do they, Sammy?"

"No," the younger Winchester replied coldly.

Dean headed around to the Impala's trunk and opened it. "Maybe we need to make a bigger statement."

Sam's jaw worked, looking as though he knew exactly what his brother was thinking and was on the fence about it. Castiel, of course, was completely lost.

But then Sam seemed to come to a decision and nodded. "Maybe we do."

"What are you doing?" Mary asked warily.

Dean reached into the trunk and hefted out a grenade launcher. Castiel just cocked his head at it dubiously. That was not typically an instrument for making statements…although it did make quite the first impression, as that was how Ketch had introduced himself to the Winchesters. Ah, so that was it.

Dean lifted the weapon to brace on his shoulder, scanning the facility. "Where do they keep all the supernatural tech?"

Mary's mouth parted. "Dean, there's some useful stuff in there."

" _Where_?"

Her lips thinned, but after a moment, she pointed to the south end of the compound. "That's the storage wing for their R&D stuff. There shouldn't be anyone in there right now."

Dean nodded decisively, and aimed. There was a click and whoosh as the grenade launched through the air and toward the building. A second later, a great explosion ripped through the containers, belching fire into the air and buffeting them all with a gust of hot wind.

Dean took a moment to admire his work, and then stowed the grenade launcher back in the trunk. He slammed the lid and turned to the nearest guard. "Consider that your final warning. Get out of this country. Or we will burn you down."

With that, he strode back to the driver's door to slip in behind the wheel. Mary headed toward her blue coupe parked a short distance away. Castiel climbed into the backseat of the Impala, and finally felt a wave of exhaustion born of relief as they turned toward home.

* * *

Sam sat at the bunker's map table, gaze downcast as he listened to Mom apologize to Cas for what happened to him, not just with Ketch kidnapping him, but before, on the case with the sea witch. Dean was standing at Sam's shoulder, radiating tension and broiling anger as all the feelings of hurt and betrayal got stirred up again. Sam mostly just had the prior.

On the one hand, he could understand why Mom would think it was a good idea to work with the Brits. On the other…she hadn't wanted to be in the hunting life at all. So what did that say that she'd chosen something she'd hated over being with her own sons? Sam knew what it was like to need space and everything, but that?

"I know you had no part in either of those times," Cas assured her after she'd finished. The angel was always quick to forgive, something Sam admired at most times, but at others it made his heart hurt.

Mary nodded sagely, then looked at Sam and Dean. "Are we okay?"

Sam flicked a glance up at his brother, trying to read his current mindset.

Dean's jaw was tight, body language stiff. He shook his head. "You knew the Brits were bad news. Yet you still chose to work with them. So forgive me if I'm having a little trouble believing you're actually sorry—or actually care about us."

Sam almost sighed, but he wasn't going to stop his brother from getting out everything Dean had been keeping pent up the past several weeks. No matter how uncomfortable it was.

"Do…do you want me to go?"

Dean looked away, and Sam did shake his head in frustration then.

"No," he said before his brother could say something he'd regret. Sam leaned his arms forward on the table. "Look, we've all made mistakes. And you came through for us when it counted." He paused. "I want to work this out. I want you to be a part of this family. But…if that's not something you want, then I'll respect that. But I think you need to decide whether you're all in or not. Because if you're not…" Sam swallowed, hardly believing he was taking this stance. "Then maybe going our separate ways is the best. Because I can't keep going through this emotional whiplash."

Mostly he meant Dean couldn't keep going through it. Mom's repeated absences and shifting allegiances were much harder on him, though Dean would never admit it. And Sam's understanding only went so far before he would choose to protect his brother over having a relationship with his mom.

"Stay, work it out…or don't," he finished. "But no more waffling, and no more back and forth."

Mom's eyes were wet, but she gave a measured nod. "I want to work it out, too."

Sam felt a stitch in his chest loosen, and he tried to give her an encouraging smile.

"Great," Dean said, so gruffly it was difficult to tell whether he was happy about it or not. Sam knew he was, though.

"You mind giving us a few minutes?" Dean went on. "We've got some stuff to discuss with Cas."

Mom blinked. "Oh. Of course. I'll just…"

"If you want to unpack your stuff in your room…" Sam suggested.

Mom nodded, and quietly excused herself.

Cas kept his gaze averted as he inclined his head toward Dean. "As I briefly told Sam earlier, I never imagined that soul energy spell would create a psychic link like that. I'll help you find a way to neutralize it."

Sam exchanged a look with his brother before turning back to the angel. "Are you sure we should try to remove it?"

Cas blinked at him in stunned stupefaction. "I have no idea what it means, what it could be doing to you. It already made you ill."

"Yeah, because  _you_  were poisoned with demon blood, am I right?" Dean jumped in.

Cas looked startled, but nodded.

"Yeah," Dean growled, and shook his head. "I just wish we'd known what it was sooner."

"At the very least, we should never use that spell again," Cas said.

"And what if you get hurt?" Dean countered.

"If we continue to use it, this bond could evolve, and I can't tell you what that will look like."

"Then we'll deal with it as it comes," Sam said. "But, Cas, unintentional or not, this doesn't have to be a bad thing."

Cas continued to gaze at them incredulously.

Dean snorted. "We  _found_  you locked in a friggin' cabinet because of that bond. And no offense, man, but with how flighty you can be, I actually feel better knowing we have a way to track you down if you get in trouble."

Cas's jaw tightened, but he didn't say anything.

"Unless you're really uncomfortable with it," Sam put in. "I mean, yeah, we're able to sense general feelings and sensations you're going through. Are you able to do the same with us?"

Cas's mouth turned down. "I- I don't know. Angels already have that ability to a degree."

"See, it's all fair," Dean chimed.

Sam met Cas's gaze earnestly. "Let's just research more about it before we decide anything."

Cas rolled his shoulder awkwardly. "You- you're certain you and Dean are not…bothered, by this?"

"No, I'm not," Sam answered honestly.

"I thought I would be," Dean started. "But now? No. I mean, yeah, it's weird, and yeah, we don't know exactly what it does. Am I gonna start having your dreams every night?"

"Angels don't dream."

Dean rolled his eyes and barreled on, "So it's gonna take some getting used to, and there will probably be a learning curve." He paused to fix Cas with a firm look. "But you're our best friend, our family. And you being an angel means we have to think outside the box in order to make sure you're taken care of." Dean hesitated. "The way you were when you were part of the Heavenly Host."

Cas gave him a sympathetic look. "I don't need much, Dean."

"Maybe not, but you never ask." Dean snorted. "Hell, maybe this bond will clue us in to that kind of thing."

Cas's expression pinched at that, though Sam found the idea intriguing.

"We're not trying to use this as a way to invade your privacy," Sam assured him. "But you've always been there for us, Cas, in everything. And I'm sorry, but Dean's right; if we need to use that spell again to help you, we will. And maybe you don't need much, but you deserve more."

Cas looked away. Maybe one day they would convince the angel of that.

Maybe this bond would help.

Cas finally looked back toward them. "Well, as much as I would like to begin researching this, we still have Kelly Kline and Lucifer's child to find."

"And we might not have seen the last of the British Men of Letters," Dean added.

Sam stood up and reached for his phone. Yeah, they had a lot on their plate, but what else was new. "I'll start calling other hunters."

"And I'll ask Mary if the British Men of Letters did have any information on Kelly, as that was the ruse they used to lure me out," Cas said.

"And I'll make dinner," Dean finished.

Sam smirked and shook his head. At least they were together. And the three of them united had always been enough, no matter what epic battle was on the horizon.


End file.
